No announcement yet.


  • Filter
  • Time
  • Show
Clear All
new posts

  • Tony Grannell
    commented on 's reply
    Thank you very much, Alexandra. Great to hear from you again and all the very best to you.

  • Tony Grannell
    commented on 's reply
    Based on real life but exaggerated, very much so for poetic effect. It is lovely to hear from you again and very kind of you to read and respond. You are in fine health and happy, I trust.

  • Tony Grannell
    commented on 's reply
    Delighted you found it beautiful.
    Kind regards,

  • Tony Grannell
    commented on 's reply
    Alas, too late indeed, John. Thank you very much for your fine poetic response.

    All the best,


  • AlexandratheLate
    I have to agree with RLW, I always enjoy reading your stories told through poetry. Great job poet friend.

    Leave a comment:

  • RhymeLovingWriter
    What a woefully moving saga - beautifully writ, poet friend! Based on real-life events - or conjured from your storehouse of poetical imaginings?

    Either way, the wonderful cadence of this piece makes it a pleasure to read, despite the somber content.

    Leave a comment:

  • The Kid In A Cell

    Leave a comment:

  • Johntee
    So many thus accommodate
    The strains of life and find, alas too late,
    The Bible's promissory note
    Of three score and ten

    Leave a comment:

  • Tony Grannell
    started a topic Reasons


    She fled without reason,
    she’d reasoned for too long.
    Standing in the station
    when the train came along.
    On a one-way ticket,
    she had made up her mind.
    Left fate to her follies
    and her motives behind.

    On the edge of desire
    but couldn’t climb aboard.
    In a moment of doubt
    and her future ignored.
    Crying like that engine
    when heard that whistle blow,
    of a new tomorrow
    but she couldn’t let go.

    Alone on the platform,
    her reasoning detained.
    With utter disbelief
    into the unexplained.
    The world at her calling,
    how her future was planned.
    Instead, left the station,
    her ticket in her hand.

    The gloom of withdrawing
    down the road she had tread.
    Going back on her dreams
    and from all, she had fled.
    Weighed down with betrayal
    of the strength, she had earned,
    of all, she had hoped for,
    for a life, she had yearned.

    She was troubled, they said,
    whatever she’d been through.
    In heroin escaped,
    but nothing they could do.
    For she kept to herself,
    only sighted by chance.
    A frail apparition
    in a transient glance.

    One too many needles,
    and they laid her to rest.
    They laid her out pretty
    in her white cotton dress.
    Faded in its pocket,
    a ticket with her name.
    And on it was written,
    ‘I have boarded the train.’